


for the kingdom

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Implied Mpreg, Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Omega Keith (Voltron), Power Dynamics, Prince Keith (Voltron), Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: When he retires for the evening and sends the bedchamber servants away, he sees the hidden passage in mind’s eye, something Kolivan showed him in case he needed to escape the keep.But it has another purpose tonight.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	for the kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first omegaverse fic, especially first nsfw omegaverse fic for JobiDraws, who asked:
> 
> _Prince Keith orders knight Shiro around to service him. Can we make it some spicy abo? Maybe have them not mated cause it's forbidden but alpha Shiro knocks up omega prince Keith??_

Prince Keith has a secret.

When he retires for the evening and sends the bedchamber servants away, he sees the hidden passage in mind’s eye, something Kolivan showed him in case he needed to escape the keep.

But it has another purpose tonight.

It’s utterly forbidden, and would be a scandal for the ages: a mere commoner with a prince. No matter how high Commander Takashi Shirogane’s star has risen, no matter how many tournaments he’s won or battles he’s led to victory, _nothing_ can equal a legitimate claim to the throne.

Keith thinks it’s unfair—he himself was thought to be a commoner before his bloodline was discovered by a mischance of picking up a sacred blade and being whisked away to the powerful kingdom of Marmora. Yet his only demand thus far was to employ Shiro as a knight of his trusted guard, something that took him a while to convince Kolivan.

“Marmora-born or not, he is more loyal than anyone I know,” he remembers saying. “I will accept no other.”

Kolivan had muttered something under his breath about the prince’s stubbornness and how it will be a problem, but Keith had gotten his way.

And he’s now more grateful than ever to have Shiro by his side: Shiro is his anchor in all of this, the one true constant. He doesn’t have to dress to Shiro’s taste or fawn over his latest musical composition or memorize his family tree. Keith is just Keith to him.

Keith likes the neighboring kingdoms’ royalty fine, but he can’t see himself liking them enough to spend a life with them to seal an alliance.

Maybe it’s his fault, because he wasn’t born into this life, as Kolivan often says; he does not understand the sense of duty, only his own desires. If he were a true prince, Kolivan often lectured, then his thoughts wouldn’t automatically go to _What is it that I want?_ To consider that is the sin of selfishness, something not very princely—or kingly.

Keith hears a rhythmic three-tap knock, drawing him out of his unwelcome thoughts, and he gladly rises out of bed in his nightshift to open the door.

In the passageway is Shiro, in a pair of loose pants and a tunic, clutching a lantern. On his belt is a sword, something Keith would be alarmed at if he didn’t know of Shiro’s paranoia— _protection,_ Shiro always corrected him.

He swallows Shiro’s greeting with a kiss, muttering a brief “hush” against his lips. His hand splays across Shiro’s chest, feeling the thud of Shiro’s heart, his own eyes sliding shut. Shiro’s nightly stubble brushes against his mouth, and his calloused palm reaches up to caress Keith’s cheek, pulling him closer. Keith lets out a little gasp, allowing Shiro further in.

“Are you certain?” Shiro asks when they part. His lips are slightly swollen.

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I wasn’t,” Keith breathlessly replies. “Are you?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t,” Shiro echoes, and moves to kiss him again.

They continue, Keith allowing his nightshirt to fall off his right shoulder, revealing a piece of pale flesh. Shiro’s mouth goes to his neck, clamping down—and Keith gently nudges him away with an errant hand.

“Careful,” he whispers, mindful of the guards patrolling down the hall, and guides Shiro’s jaw to his shoulder.

He’s happy that he’s undressed for the day; he could not abide the endless laces and ties and layers. He can feel the warmth of Shiro’s hands through the thin silk, down to chill of his body, as well as the brief scorch of the flame through the thin glass.

“You’ll burn me up,” he whispers.

Shiro quickly places the lantern down on the nightstand. “Wouldn’t want to do that.”

“Not that way,” Keith responds. If this was a wedding night, they’d have spiced wine for courage, for eased nerves, with a band playing outside to drown out their consummation. These previous few moments are furtive and silent but laced with the passion he believes an arranged marriage will never have.

He steps back and looks at Shiro. Shiro's eyes are dark with desire, and Keith inwardly flushes with pride. He knows he looks almost maidenly: dark hair coiled into a nymph-like braid and barefooted and naked underneath his thin shift. But Shiro, although his hair is unbound like a bride's, is clearly hard-muscled underneath his clothes. 

“Undress,” he says.

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “So quickly?”

“Obey your future king,” Keith instructs lowly.

Shiro mock-demurely lowers his eyelids. “As you wish.”

He unbuckles his belt and lays the sword carefully on Keith’s dresser, then begins to strip out of his tunic. Keith stares, admiring Shiro's broad shoulders and wide chest. He’s scarred by weather and battles alike, a fine trail of hair disappearing into his trousers. Keith feels himself yearn for more; he wants to come forward and strip Shiro out of his clothes himself, but forces himself to hang back.

“Faster,” he orders.

Shiro obeys, pulling down his trousers and underclothes in one motion, stepping out of them without a blink. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and Keith boldly reaches for it, grasping it, feeling Shiro’s hand wrap around his wrist in surprise, then still.

His lips part in a moan, as Keith rubs his palm up and down Shiro’s cock, slow and unschooled but certain. His nightshift is falling further down his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it, Shiro reaching out to further part the fabric.

He does not dare, Keith senses, to venture further down. Shiro’s own virginity is of little consequence, but Keith’s—Keith’s is enough to start wars.

“Touch me,” Keith says.

Shiro’s gaze flickers downward. “Keith,” he breathes.

“I command you,” Keith says hoarsely, and takes Shiro’s hand and lays it where he wants, moving closer to grind against Shiro’s palm—a dirty trick, to be sure, but an effective one. In no time, Shiro’s fingers ghost across his folds, already wet, petting almost tenderly, then begin thumbing his nub, and Keith bucks against him, breathing heavily inwards through his teeth. He knows this is nothing, that Shiro’s cock will fill him better than anything, that he will take it and run his hands over his bulging stomach and cry out Shiro’s name—

“On your knees,” he manages.

Shiro slowly drops to his knees on the carpeted floor, as graceful as a dancer. Keith reaches out and lifts his chin with one finger. “You know what to do.”

Without another word, he falls onto Keith.

Keith’s legs part as Shiro’s mouth latches on, noisily suckling. He fights not to grind onto Shiro’s face; already, he cannot last for very long. He’s done this before, alone underneath his blankets, his other hand shoved in his mouth, but this is like nothing he’s felt before.

Shiro’s tongue licks and swirls and parts his folds, as his fingers go up to keep them spread—and when he does, Keith has to grab onto Shiro’s hair and yank hard, as if Shiro’s his wildest stallion and must be brought around firmly.

Shiro needs no commands in this instance; it’s not exactly skill but more frenzy and lust and determination, working against the slick that runs across his face—and Keith’s whole body shudders and he comes and comes and comes, like summer rain.

Shiro kisses his trembling thighs before pulling back, sitting on his haunches for further orders. His lips gleam in the faint light.

He looks so perfect that Keith bids him to rise. Shiro does so, with slightly trembling knees.

“Shiro,” he says, “I want you.”

Keith then reaches down and grasps Shiro in his hand, guiding it to his hole, Shiro gasping as Keith’s warmth softly encloses him. Keith’s hips buck, and Shiro shudders against him as if he’s spent already, but his nails tighten in Keith’s shoulder.

“My lord,” Shiro whispers in his ear. “We can…”

“I want all of you,” Keith reassures. Shiro’s cock, despite his words, is sliding in, catching around his entrance in a delicious slow stretch. He watches it in the dim lamplight, feeling inwardly pleased, sliding his own hand down to rub the wetness between them.

Shiro breaths heavily against his neck, eyes sliding shut.

“More,” Keith demands.

Shiro’s fingers fist around the strands of Keith’s hair. “Keith…”

Keith guides them to the bed; Shiro acquiesces, flopping on his back as Keith rides him, enjoying the sensation of fullness, the bulge in his stomach. He moves slowly, bracing himself with one hand against Shiro’s chest. With every thrust, it feels as he’s whole.

His lips part as he sinks deeper, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within him. Shiro is in not much better shape underneath him, hands clamped around Keith’s hips like a vice, teeth clenched so tightly that Keith swears he can hear the creak of his jaw.

“Gods, Keith,” Shiro sighs, looking the way some pilgrims look when they reach a holy site at last. It takes everything in Keith to keep up a rhythm and not fall on Shiro’s chest.

Keith reaches between them again, pressing meaningfully. “Please.”

Shiro wets his lips, eyes widening, “Keith…”

“I want this,” he says. “You do, too. I want to feel you.”

And Keith nearly collapses anyway when he feels the knot bloom inside him at last.

Now, tied together, they cannot back out. It cannot be undone—but Keith doesn’t care.

* * *

The lantern has gone out a long time ago, and they lay in the dark, locked together.

“Are you all right?” Shiro whispers. “I know it was…”

Keith presses a finger against his lips. “It was all I wished. Did you…?”

“Yes,” Shiro breathes. “It’s not just love talk, Keith; I never thought we’d dare, not when you’re—”

“I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you,” Keith boldly interrupts, “and I don’t care that I’m a prince. If it were the other way around, would you love me?”

Shiro kisses him. “Of course I would. If you were a knight and I was another, it would be a great deal easier, but I love you all the same.”

Keith smiles, as the kisses make their way slowly down his throat, mindful of not leaving any marks. 

He has another secret to keep.

* * *

It happens night after night.

Keith tells himself each time will be the last, that this is merely because the lit brazier is not enough to stave off the cold, that they will do nothing but talk, but to no avail.

But sometimes, they do talk, huddled under the covers. They take each other’s hands and guide each other through the sunlit halls of the Garrison, through the fields where they raced each other under the never-ending skies. They recount each other’s days pacing the keep or discuss bringing aid to a kingdom that has fallen under Zarkon or plan coalitions and campaigns and battle strategies. Marmora is distressingly neutral, but they cannot afford to be for much longer, despite what Kolivan advises.

It’s foolish, but he misses Garrison. He misses riding without having to worry about losing his guards or unintentionally insulting a riding partner who wished for him to keep apace. He misses the possibility of being able to leave if he had a fast horse or a ship and enough coin. He misses the anonymity, of slipping into the market without having to pull on a cloak for a disguise or be escorted by clanking armor escorts. He even misses thought of as nothing—so he can be underestimated.

He feels mewed up like a falcon—even if, he tells himself, he has the family he longed for at last. But it was easier to miss them without these expectations, these demands, these plans that require his obedience. Do they truly love him, he often wonders, or the idea of him?

Yet Keith knows Shiro truly loves him, even though they can never seal a bond, can never plan for the future—the true future, after the war—no matter how they wish that they could.

* * *

His stomach makes an unpleasant gurgle for the fourth time tonight.

Normally, he’d think it’s because of the rich fare—even his time here hasn’t “cured” his usual taste for plain foodstuff. But since this is dinner with the family, it’s vegetables and roasted meat and grains, nothing fancy like peacock doused in wine or fishes from different coasts drowned in creamy sauces or rich cakes with heaps of cream.

Even the thought makes him sick.

“Excuse me,” he says, and pushes himself away from the table. Keith’s relieved he’s not at a banquet or a state affair, where he has to make his bows and proper goodbyes before even thinking about standing up—although he can see Kolivan frowning at the unseemly breach of etiquette—and heads for the hallway.

It’s when he pitches into a potted plant when he realizes.

“Oh,” Keith says aloud, wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve.

By all reason, Keith should be horrified. He should, perhaps, send for someone to discretely ride out to the nearest apothecary, or scrounge up certain herbs in the cellar—even, perhaps, write to someone he does not dislike overly much and hatch a quick wedding and bedding.

But something rebellious in him has Keith pressing his hands to his stomach, and start making his own plans at last.

There’s a creak of a door opening, and Shiro steps out of the Great Hall, bowing once before drawing himself up, looking appropriately concerned for his monarch.

“Your Highness?” he asks. “Your mother bid me to ask if everything all right?”

Keith looks up, meets his eyes with a calm smile. “Everything is fine, Sir Shirogane, and you may tell her that.” Then, lowly, he adds, “Come to my room tonight. There’s something we must discuss.”


End file.
